


burr & prejudice

by bluecarrot



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Jane Austen Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Jane Austen - Freeform, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pride and Prejudice References, References to Jane Austen, pride and prejudice - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-09-01 05:07:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8609959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecarrot/pseuds/bluecarrot
Summary: complete and utter self-indulgence. sort of a rehash of Pride and Prejudice (except for all the ways in which it is not)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written 11/20/16 - Dec 2016.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we meet the inhabitants of Clairmont Street -- Hamilton, Laurens, Jefferson, Lafayette, and Seabury -- and Alex meets the new neighbor, one Aaron Burr.
> 
>  
> 
> *
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Alex stole the last piece of bacon off Lauren's plate. "If we got our own place, things would be easier. I could work all night and not bother you."_  
>  _"Is that so."_  
>  _"It wouldn't be_ that _much more expensive."_  
>  _"Alex, you have no income. I'm buying your breakfast right now."_  
>  _"And I'm very grateful indeed for your continued support of my lifestyle!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written 11/20/2016.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that if five young men live together, at least one of them will be queer. Statistically speaking, of course. 

The house on Clairmont Street was an outlier; statistics fell to pieces. The members were Gilbert de Marquise de Lafayette, who identified as agender, pansexual, and strictly non-monogamous; he was involved with a rotating cast of individuals at any given time

Jefferson, who ignored all pointed conversations of gender or sexuality, had never been seen to date and was not known to have gone home with anyone _ever._ The consensus among the others was that he was asexual -- possibly -- or possibly something else entirely. Nobody was brave enough to directly ask him except Alex, who had been (figuratively) gagged. There was an air about him; he had a way of forbidding confidences while simultaneously implying that everything about him was so fascinating as to be common knowledge

Sam Seabury, an avowed (and apparently) hetero. Seabury was dating someone and _would not stop talking about her_ , which was annoying enough that everyone swore they couldn't remember her name, or what she looked like, or indeed that he was in a relationship at all

John Laurens (a devoted 5 on the Kinsey scale)

\-- and Alex, as fiercely and aggressively proud of his bisexuality as if someone was trying to take it away from him.

 

Laurens and Alex were dating, generally -- except when they had marvelous fights and slammed doors and swore they'd never speak again. One such squabble is ongoing as we raise the curtain on this domestic drama.

 

Alex was yelling, again. "And you're acting like the innocent one --" A throw-pillow went sailing at Laurens, missing him by a significant amount. Alex was terrible at sports. "You're always pretending to be so _chaste_ and _perfect_ \--" He picked up an empty mug on the table and threw that, too.

Jefferson caught it in mid-air. He'd been on the couch and pretending to read, as if the argument was really too tedious to bother about, but now he looked annoyed. "That's _my_ dishware, Hamilton. If you need to abuse him, couldn't you at least go into your own room? Break _your_ possessions over his head?"

"Excellent idea," said Laurens. "Let's take this somewhere else. Alex, why don't we -- somewhere --"

"Absolutely no. We need to air this out here in the open. You'll just ignore me again if we go somewhere else. You'll get distracted by a text message or a twitter hit or ..."

"For one thing, you know I never go on twitter; you're the one obsessed with your social media presence. And for another -- No. You know what? It's fine. It's fine. We'll stay right here. If Thomas has a problem --"

Jefferson moaned.

Alex swore. "No. We'll go out. It's fine. It's FINE."

 

They went out for drinks. Drinks turned into kissing and kissing turned into a quickie in the bathroom and _that_ got them thrown out, so they ended up at the all-night diner.

Alex wanted coffee. He gave the server a smile so sweet that they dropped their pencil. Laurens rolled his eyes. He ordered the platter -- short stack pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon on the side. "Extra syrup."

The food came. Alex stole all the bacon while Laurens pretended not to notice. "I'm just saying," he said, crunching, with his mouth open. "If we got our own place, things would be easier. I could work all night and not bother you."

"Huh."

"It wouldn't be _that_ much more expensive."

"Alex, you have no income. I'm buying your breakfast right now."

"And I'm very grateful indeed for your continued support of my lackadaisical lifestyle." He grinned. "But seriously -- what's the difference between paying rent to _our_ landlord and paying rent to some _other_ landlord?"

" _Our_ landlord gets rent from three other people, for one. If it was only us, if I couldn't cover it some month, you might need to get paid employment, my pretty boy. Much as it offends your delicate sensibilities. Get your damn hands off my pancakes!"

"You've had plenty. I saw some pudge on you in that bathroom."

"You did not."

"Mmm. I did so. Right there above your hip --"

"You're such a liar," but he looked anxious. "You are lying, right?"

Alex groaned. "You spend three hours a day in the gym. You have an eight-pack. You have, like, _zero_ body fat. There isn't an ounce of extra fluff on your toned, extraordinary, perfect body -- "

Laurens was actually blushing, just like he had when the manager came in and caught them, and Alexander regarded him with pleasure; that blush did things to him. But John was frowning, too. "I do _not_ spend three hours a day at the gym."

"Two-point-five hours, plus showering et cetera. Okay, but are you going to _finish_ all that there? What about the eggs? Did you put syrup on them too? I don't like them with syrup."

"You're a bottomless pit. Take it. Take it all. I'm finished. Down the hatch."

So Alexander cleaned up the plate, including the extra syrup. It really was delicious. And this way John Laurens got to taste it off his mouth without dealing with all of those naughty calories.

 

Someone was moving in next door.

Alexander looked up from his laptop for the eighteenth time that hour. He was supposed to be working, writing content for a political site, but there weren't any big scandals at the moment and he was sort of bored, honestly. He needed something more interesting to be doing. Watching the movers carry in box after box -- and watching their bulging muscles, glisten with sweat -- well. It was a diversion.

He found the bottle of wine that Jefferson hadn't quite finished last night, poured the last of it into a mug, and sat on the windowsill.

There was a guy wandering around, frowning at things -- he was nice looking too, Alex noticed-without-noticing. No visibly bulging muscles but he moved with a calm presence that was quite attractive, even if Alex preferred hair long enough to curl in his fingers and pull on during certain activities _(ahem)._ He shifted on the windowsill and ... well, he wasn't getting anything accomplished anyway, was he? He took the mug and went outside to say hello. 

 

"A third go into the office, and a third to the library, and a third to the sitting room -- we've been over this. They're _color-coded_ , for god's sake."

The mover looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Sir, all those boxes have blue stickers on them."

"They are all shades of blue -- _blue_ for _books_ , don't you see? Still. They are  _clearly_ different colors within the blue spectrum. The library is teal, the sitting room periwinkle, and the office is royal."

The mover did not move. "All those boxes are blue. We can't work overtime on this one. Not when it wasn't our fault."

"If you can't tell the difference between teal and royal blue, that is _entirely_  your fault. I won't pay more to correct your mistake. If you don't want to be here longer, you'll need to work faster. -- That means _go_ ," he added, coolly, authority dripping from his voice like he wasn't half the size of the other man.

The mover spat on the ground and left. 

Alex had seen enough; he turned on his heel to go too, but that voice called him back. "Who are you? What are you doing?"

He winced. "Alexander Hamilton." And extended his hand. "Nice to meet you. I live next door. Are you moving in here?"

"Is that wine? In a mug? Are you day-drinking?"

Alex drew back the unshaken hand. "Well, um -- I work from home, and --"

"You're drinking _and_ working? What sort of work do you do?"

He didn't blink, he didn't sound especially judgmental, but still the words made Alex squirm. "I'm a columnist."

"Is that so?"

Okay. Well. If that was how it was going to be, fuck this guy; fuck him and his disdain. "What work do _you_ do, Mr -- ah --"

He smiled, finally. "Burr. Aaron Burr. I do a lot of things. This and that."

"What does that mean?"

Burr had seemed ready to go on vaguely equivocating for hours but he got distracted. "What kind of wine are you drinking?"

Did Alex look like someone who knew anything about wine? He scowled. "It's red."

"Can I see?"

"Um --"

So Burr reached out and took the mug; he sniffed at it, gave Alex a strange look, and took a sip.

"Wait. What are you --"

"Is this the '98 Inglebrook? Or the '96? I've had this before."

Okay, did he _need_ to tell Alex it was something special? Now he felt badly about drinking. "It's whatever my roommate had in the fridge from last night."

"Your roommate drinks two-hundred-dollar bottles of wine, mid-week? Was it a special occasion?"

Alex felt like a paramecium, stuck under a microscope. He didn't particularly _like_ Jefferson -- but he wasn't Burr's to insult; Burr had only just now moved in, for god's sake. He had to at least meet Jefferson before he hated him; that right was _earned_ through suffering and painful conversation. He resisted the urge to stick out his tongue. "No, that's just ... that's just Jefferson. Can I have my wine back? I've got stuff to do."

Burr laughed out loud. "Liar." But he gave back the mug, and he was smiling fully this time. "Enjoy the wine. And maybe I'll come over sometime, if this is your casual suppertime red."

"Oh, you would get along with Thomas," Alex told him, in complete sincerity. 

 

Maybe he'd install cameras inside the house, he thought, going back inside. He definitely wanted to _see_  that meeting, and he sure didn't want to be in the room where it happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (they're thrown out of the club bathroom because Alex makes a lot of noise during sex)


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Jefferson throws a party, everyone argues with everyone else, enter: James Madison, and Alexander again does something stupid.  
>    
> *
> 
> _"John, are you even listening?"_  
>  _"I'm listening. I am also watching a cat video."_  
>  _"He drank the wine in my mug and then he complimented it."_  
>  _"Would you feel better if he'd insulted that, too?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written 11/20/2016.

When Alex padded downstairs, rubbing his eyes and yawning, John Laurens was drawing water. He put the pot on the stove with a clatter that made Alex wince. The sudden physical pain in his head reminded him -- "Jefferson is throwing a party tonight."

Laurens went on frowning at the stove. "Why?"

"Probably because Jefferson has never, not once in his entire life, given up on an excuse to show off. And we have a new neighbor to show off for. Next door. You might have noticed. Are you making breakfast?"

"I'm making coffee."

"For me?" He was the _best_ boyfriend. 

"For _us_." 

"What about breakfast? You need to eat. You should make yourself breakfast. You should make _me_ breakfast, come to think of it. I burned off a lot of calories, you know."

"Didn't you have enough last night?" -- distractedly, looking at his phone.

Alex leered. "Never enough. I could for some more right now, right here --"

"Slut."

"For you, absolutely." He curled up against the lovely warm mass of Laurens, and then _finally_ , he was able to unbottle his feelings. And did. Ending with "-- the absolute rudest person I have ever met. He wouldn't even shake my hand. And he drank my wine! And -- John, are you even listening?"

"I'm listening. I am also watching a cat video."

"He drank the wine in my mug and then he complimented it."

"Would you feel better if he'd insulted that, too?"

The water was boiling. Alex filled up the French press and returned to snuggling. "He said it was some super-expensive fancy stuff."

"Probably he was lying." John still didn't look up; he sounded bored.

"And he color-coded his moving boxes."

"That's better than certain _other_ people, who throw knives in with the bath towels. Maybe I should move in with him."

It was obviously a joke -- but still Alex felt a twinge. He didn't even want to think about John moving out. "He could cover his half of the rent, that's for sure. He could probably buy the entire building with what's in his wallet. You wouldn't really leave me?"

Laurens didn't bother to reply to this, either, so Alex bit his earlobe, and John pinched his ass, and that lead to other things, and breakfast was forgotten.

 

 

They were on the balcony, sharing a smoke. Everything was pleasantly warm and slow.

Laurens nudged him. "Who's that who Jeffs is talking with?"

"Who? Oh, fuck. Who invited him? He's the one who moved in next door." They watched through the glass.

Alex chewed on the sleeve of his grey sweater.

"Good-looking," said Laurens, sounding surprised.

Alex scoffed at this assessment. "If you like that sort of thing."

"Tall, dark and handsome isn't good enough for you? That's not your scene?"

"He's not tall," said Alex without thinking, and Laurens laughed at him. "And I like long hair on boys," tugging on the dark curls. "You know that. And, and, anyway, he stole Jefferson's wine. _My_ wine. He stole my _wine_."

"You're still not over that?"

"It was really rude!"

"You stole it from Jefferson."

"That's _different_ \--"

 

 

"It's quite large."

"It's a talent of mine."

"From any other man -- in any other _room_ \-- I'd go so far as to call it ostentatious."

"But it fits me, right?" Jefferson grinned. "I named it."

"Of course you did. -- Well?"

"James Madison."

Even from across the room, even over the music, Alex heard Burr's laughter. He turned his head away from watching them but the voice followed him: "Formal name for a houseplant."

"He's very attractive, I think. Almost presidential. It suits him." Jefferson was completely pleased. "Now -- about that  _beaujolais nouveau_ \-- have you tried the 2014? A strong year. The rains suited."

 

 

Alex nearly collided with Burr, rounding a corner. He frowned at him. "Are you ever going to tell me what you do?"

Burr was carrying a glass of wine, looking absurdly natural with it; he considered Alex. "I told you I ... well. All right: I'm a politician. Amongst other things."

Of course he was. He wore a button-down and a jacket to a house party, and he knew the price of snooty wines. And that cologne was probably expensive too. "Of course you are," said Alex. "And you're living here? Not exactly the most fashionable area. Hungry to see how the other half lives?"

"I consider it necessary to understanding the reality of my constituents."

"Who are those, exactly?"

"They're the people I represent, Alexander."

How could he make Alex feel stupid in a single sentence? And he felt warm, too. He stuck out his chin. "I mean, what do you do? Are you in local government, or ... what?"

"Re-establishing a position," said Burr, looking and speaking as if he faced a crowd of reporters. "It's been a difficult few years. I had to retreat from the public eye to be with my family for a while. So I'm starting again at the bottom."

It was on the tip of Alex's tongue to ask  _Is that where you like_ _it_ but he caught himself, cleared his throat, nodded as if that was a reasonable response, and fled.

  

 

"There is nothing," said Seabury's girlfriend, "as delightful as a party."

"I'd like parties better if they weren't so noisy. And if there weren't so many people. And if Alex and Laurens would stop dancing like that."

She kissed his forehead. "But then it wouldn't be a party."

"They don't have to be all over each other. Grinding like that. It's gross."

"They're just dancing, Sam."

"It's offensive."

"We went out to a club last weekend."

"But that's different," he said.

Alex overheard. Pink-cheeked from exertion and alcohol, he came over to plop down on the opposite side of Seabury, rather close to him, and ask him how exactly it was different; he actually made it through five sentences before he started arguing and swearing.

"Please don't," said the girlfriend, to Sam. And "You'll catch more flies with honey."

"He needs to own up to his homophobia."

Instead of answering, she threw back her head and laughed in his face. "You don't even remember my name, Hamilton."

"I do!"

"Oh yeah? What is it?"

"Well, I would remember if you -- if he -- dammit --"

"Look. He's wrong about you. But you're wrong about him. And the two things aren't equally bad, I'm not saying that; you hating on some random white guy doesn't make any difference to the world. But if you want him to change his mind, you're gonna need to pay him the respect of treating him like he's got some sense and reasons. Even if his reasons are crap."

"He wants to take away my right to marry Laurens."

"Yeah," she said, "and he's _wrong_ , Alex. So _talk_ to him about it. Don't yell and swear and think you're making a difference, because you're not."

They stared at each other. She was mad about it, too -- so how did she stay so calm? It was ridiculous. And he didn't believe in being quiet. "That way sucks," he said.

"If you come up with something better, I'll be around. Nameless," she said. "And when you want to talk about the sexism in treating me like an appendage, well, you let me know." She pulled on his hair and went back to the couch.

 

 

Three drinks later, Burr and Seabury were deep in conversation; Burr was holding on to his glass of wine by the stem, looking soft and intent and beautiful.

The wine meant Jefferson liked him; the tone of conversation meant _Seabury_ liked him.

Alex was liking him less and less. Him and his stupid elegance. He made Alex feel scruffy and unkempt and -- and _unattractive_ , too. Seabury was easily lead, he thought, but Jefferson was disturbingly acute in his discerning. And Burr was good enough to drink Thom's wine? He'd come that far in an evening?

Goddammit! He hated politicians. He really did.

 

 

"All I'm saying," said Jefferson, who had not been saying anything of the sort, "is this idea of paying people to sit around and not work is absurd." He did not look up at the rude noise Alex made. "The jobs will come back when there are people willing to fill them. Incentivize the workers, you stimulate production, the entire economy benefits."

Alex, who had drank enough to know he needed to stop drinking, scowled over his water glass. "Going hungry isn't an _incentive_?"

"People don't go hungry anymore. Not when they can suckle at the teat of big government."

"You say that in front of a politician?"

Jefferson shrugged it off. "Aaron agrees with me. He's Republican, too."

Alex smiled. It was not polite. "However did we get so lucky as to have two of you in one city block?"

Burr leaned forward, away from Jefferson, and spoke in his usual calm tones. "The world isn't divided into good people and Republicans. Some of us are working for change within the system."

"Sure. _Change_. It'll be a great _change_ when we have bread lines again, and train bums, and oh, right, that lead to the _collapse of the global economy --"_

"You're shouting at me. Please stop."

"And the rise of fascism --"

"You're blaming me for Hitler?"

"A real-life Godwinning in our midst," noted Jefferson, finishing the wine in his glass. "Aaron, do you want another?"

"Thank you, it's delicious, but no. I've had enough." He glanced at Alex: "My head is already beginning to hurt."

Alex grit his teeth.

Jefferson stood. "Shame. I'm thinking of the Inglebrook." And he wandered into the cellar.

Burr caught Alex's eye; one made a face, the other laughed. "Alexander -- do you have a moment? I've been meaning to talk with you."

Alex wasn't going anywhere. "Pardon me, no," he said, in a haughty imitation of Burr's smoothness. "I am far too wealthy and important to speak with peons like yourself."

"Alex," said Laurens, who was playing a game on his phone and did not even look up.

Burr didn't respond for a moment; when he did, his voice had dropped a tone. "It's that sort of attitude that makes people less than thrilled to represent your interests."

"Oh, I'm sorry -- is my poverty not _polite_ enough for you?"

"Alex?"

"Your poverty?" Burr looked around. "This is hardly the ghetto. There are five bedrooms, a full basement, two baths --"

"You sound like a realtor."

"I might have spent some time with the listing pages recently, yes. Why are you embarrassed to be middle-class? Does it hurt your sense of rebellion to realize that you're contributing to urban gentrification?"

"As if you would know anything about middle-class, Mister _Sommelier_ , Mister _I-know-five-colors-of-blue --_ "

Burr laughed again at that, and

"Alex. Stop. Please." And this time, Laurens was engaged enough to put his hand over Alex's mouth and lean in to hiss into his ear: "He's our landlord."

It was the wrong knowledge arriving at the wrong moment. Hamilton stood up, threw his water in Burr's face, and stormed off.


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Alex gets _real employment_ , Laurens finds new work (the sort he cannot claim on his taxes), and Burr and Jefferson argue about wine ... and about Alex.
> 
> _"I was enjoying Thomas' company."_
> 
> _"Bullshit. Nobody likes Jefferson's company."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content note -- there's a slur in here (the one about intelligence, starting with S.)

Meanwhile: Seabury was irritable, moody, and distant. No one bothered to ask him what was going on.

His girlfriend raised an eyebrow at Alex every time they passed each other. It was very irritating -- especially since he still couldn't remember her name.

 

Meanwhile, Alex was hired at the local grocery store. He went in insolent and came out thrilled -- he'd gotten a job! He'd been hired! Someone wanted to _pay_ him for his work!

"That's ... that's great," said Laurens, when he was told. "My brave boy."

"Don't be smarmy. It's money."

"You're right. I'm sorry. And I'm proud of you."

That sounded smarmy too, Alex thought, but it didn't matter. They were paying rent now -- that's what mattered. He didn't have to face that goddamn Burr and plead for more time. That's what mattered.

 

"So," said Laurens. "I've been thinking about what Laf said."

Alex wasn't listening. Alex was admiring John's chest. He was moving around the bedroom, getting dressed, putting on socks. "Hmm? Which thing that he said?"

"About growing and selling."

When had he said that? "Gil doesn't sell. He just ... buys. He just happens to buy rather a lot."

Laurens said: "No. He doesn't sell. But I could. I could grow it and sell it."  He pulled a shirt over his head; Alex mourned. 

He followed him down the steps, arguing.  "Look. John. I'm just _saying_.  Smoking up on the weekend or at a party is one thing, but selling could land you --"  And he stopped speaking, stopped walking, lost his thought entirely.  _ Aaron Burr  _ was  at _his_ table, sitting on _his_ chair, talking to his _roommate_.

"Um," said Alex.

Burr looked up, blinked, said  _Hello_ , and returned to his own conversation.

Alex burned. What had Burr heard -- if anything? Fuck, what had _ Jefferson_ heard? 

He was standing, awkward and staring, when  Laurens kissed him -- making rather a show of it. "I've got to head out. I'll be back. Tell Gil I need him, will you?"

"Leave him a note. Text him. I'm not your messenger."

Laurens stared. "Fuck you too." And he slammed the door.

"Trouble in paradise?"

"Shut up," Alex told Jefferson, and to Burr: "To what do we owe the honor?"

He didn't flicker an eyelid. "I was enjoying Thomas' company."

"Bullshit. Nobody likes Jefferson's company."

Jefferson stood -- rather looming over Alex -- and smiled. "I need to get something. I'll be back in, oh -- say five minutes? Hamilton, I'm going to need you to hold off on your urge to hate-fuck Aaron until I get back." He swirled out in a flashy display of purple.

"No warning for me, then," said Burr, just as Alex said

"What a  shithead he is. Disgusting. As if I'd  want to -- as if --"

"Well," said Burr. "Thank you."

"Shut up. You know I don't want to fuck you."

Burr didn't answer for a moment. Then he  smiled -- really smiled. Not a smirk or a politician's tight-lipped control but something confidential and personal and Alex didn't understand but it did something to his breath -- he couldn't catch it a second -- he turned away to rub his chest, like he did when he had a cold.

When he turned back Burr was unsmiling and Jefferson was just walking back in, saying something vulgar, and Burr was rising to go too.

 

  
This became a pastime.

It was not every night but it was at least once a week: Alex would come downstairs to find Aaron Goddamn Burr in Alex's very own rented house, drinking some ridiculously expensive wine and politely arguing with Jefferson about it.

Usually Alex just tried to slouch past, frowning. He didn't want to be part of this scene -- this elitist's club -- this sommelier night -- whatever the hell it was. But he always seemed to be drawn in. He'd stand in the kitchen, opening and closing the refrigerator, scowling because he couldn't make up his mind on what he wanted.

Jefferson would say _Hamilton stop wasting electricity_

and Alex would say _You're not my mother_

and Jefferson would say _Hell no I'm not. She was paid for it, wasn't she, isn't that right? Aaron, did I ever tell you --_

and Alex would snarl and tell him _fuck off you fucking fuck_

and Burr would intercede, saying something distracting and polite and confusing about the bouquet or the aftertaste

and Alex would bristle and Jefferson laugh, but Burr was sincerely referencing the wine

and more often than not, he offered Alex a taste -- he'd stand up and fetch a mug, smiling, and he'd pour out a little and offer it up, telling Alex to close his eyes and taste slowly, slow.

And Alex did.

He always felt hot and strange and self-aware, but he did it anyway. The lights were too bright and the hum of the refrigerator was too loud and Jefferson's smirk needed to be wiped off his face with a fist, but every time the slow flicker of Burr's eyes caught at him and he did it anyway, he let him let him let him like Burr was an undertow and he had forgotten how to swim.

  

Meanwhile: Jefferson smiled.

 

Meanwhile, Laurens saw it. He didn't say anything until they were alone again, but then: "I wish you'd stop flirting with him."

Alex blinked. They'd just had sex, rough and quick and clothed, and he was always slow after orgasm. It took him a second to understand the complete change of mood and topic, and then he couldn't believe it. "What? With who?"

"That Aaron Burr."

"Who's flirting with Aaron Burr? I'm not flirting with him. What do you mean I'm flirting with him? What are you talking about? When did I flirt?" He heard himself rambling, heard again Jefferson's sneer,thinking:  _The gentleman doth protest too much._ He bit his lip.  "John?"

Laurens shook his head. "Nevermind. Don't worry about it."

"Oh. Oh. John. You need to be careful. I told him -- no, no, I didn't tell him anything, but I think he knows about the ... the plants you're growing upstairs."

A slow, deep breath from John. "Are you sure you didn't say anything?"

"I wouldn't!"

"I'm not _accusing_ you, Alex."

Sure. Just like Laurens hadn't been accusing him of flirting with Burr. Alex pulled the band out of his hair and dropped his head down to pick at the hem of his jeans. "I wouldn't. I'm not stupid."

And John Laurens got up and moved over and sat down next to him, pulling him closer, pulling them together, lifting Alex's face and kissing him until he smiled again. "I love you." He kissed him again, between the eyes this time. 

"I love you," said Alex, because it was true.

And that was that.

 

John Laurens, sad to say, did not have a green thumb. He bought a cartload of fertilizer, growing lights, special indoor tubs -- bringing them all home in a single shopping trip. (Alex groaned at this obliviousness). He watered and adjusted temperature and glared, but no matter what he did the little plants barely hung on -- they didn't flourish.

One three-am, Alex was sitting at the table, making long lists of numbers and swearing; he was trying to parse out their bills with the cash available. (If he paid partial on the credit card, he could swing it another month - but then would that hurt them worse in interest? And what better choice did he have?)

He threw the pen across the room. It was a fancy fountain pen someone had stolen from Jefferson, and it hit the wall and left a trail of purple ink on the wallpaper. Alex spit on his hand and rubbed at the stain, trying to get rid of it or at least hide it, just as Lafayette floated in.

Lafayette always looked sort of floaty and gently amused by the life of the little humans surrounding him. It was very annoying. Alex snarled. "How can you look so calm at stupid-o'-clock?"

"Unlike you, I only worry about things that matter." He took a seat and pulled over Alex's notebook, glancing at the expletives in the margins. "John's plans aren't going well, I take it."

"He's helpless. And I ... well, I actually sold an article to News Briefly, but they pay on a quarterly schedule, and ..."

"Freelancers often have second jobs, Alex. Or third jobs."

"Or wealthy boyfriends." The wall was only getting worse with him rubbing at it. He came back to the table and sat. "I might need both. Boyfriend _and_ job."

" _Pauvre petit._ John won't ask his father?"

"You know how he feels about that."

" _Oui, mais,_ " and he gave a very Gallic shrug: "You Americans have more pride than sense."

"Some of us."

"I know you include yourself in that tally, my Alex, so I will not argue." Lafayette kissed him on the cheek. "Plants are delicate -- you know? They need guidance and care, not worry. It comes with time, this sort of knowing."

"We don't _have_ time _,_ is the problem. -- Speaking of, Gil, why are you getting up? Are you leaving already? You know it's not good for me to be alone. I am full of worry. I need guidance and care." He tried to grin; it came out lopsided. "I am fragile."

"I don't worry for you."

Alex made a face. "You overestimate my abilities."

"Not at all." And Lafayette patted him on the top of the head, like a child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French translation:  
>  _Pauvre petit_ means "Poor baby!" and _Oui, mais_ is "Yeah, but ..."


	4. Four.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Alexander makes any variety of decisions: some are mature and some are very much not so  
> Money becomes tight, and tighter  
> Maria is introduced (again)  
> Jefferson is appallingly rude (again)  
> and Laurens makes it up to Alex (against a wall)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written 11/21/2016.

Alex tried to unlock the door, dropped his keys in the crack between the porch boards, and stood gently pounding his head on the doorframe in lieu of doing anything to help.

Someone came up behind him. "Alexander?"

Fuck. He turned around, trying to smile. "Hey."

She regarded him seriously. "You still don't know my name."

He shook his head.

"Why -- why are you just standing outside?"

"My keys, um. They fell."

"You could get them," she said, gently.

Again, he shook his head.

"Bad day?" she said.

"The worst." He wasn't going to cry, he wasn't going to cry. He wouldn't. He bit his mouth. "I got fired." Breathe. Breathe. Try again. Okay. "And John's going to be ... he's gonna be mad." Breathe. Count to five. "And I lost my keys. And I can't remember your name. I'm sorry." And he burst into tears.

"Fuck," she said. "Alex. It's -- listen to me," and she grabbed his chin. "No, you look at me. You're gonna stop crying, because if Jefferson sees you like this you'll never forgive yourself, and then I'm gonna let inside the house because I've got my own keys, okay, Sam didn't -- I mean, I didn't give them back yet. And then I'm gonna find yours. Okay, baby?"

"That doesn't sound patronizing when you say it. Why doesn't it sound patronizing?"

She was searching in her bag, pulling out a keychain, jiggling at the ornery lock. "This is gonna might surprise you, Hamilton, but -- dammit, don't any of you use WD-40? -- Not everyone is out to get you. There. C'mon."

He rubbed his face. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah."

"What's your name?"

Her eyes were huge and dark, he noticed, and her eyebrows drew straight across her face.

"Maria," she said, and offered up a hand to shake.

"Alex," he said. Her skin was dry and cool. "Nice to meet you."

 

He made himself a drink and went upstairs, slamming doors and stomping his feet every step of the way. He was being childish. He didn't care. He wanted to punch someone. He wanted to -- he didn't know what he wanted to do. 

He stomped his way into the bedroom and stripped down.

Laurens sat up; his face was lined with marks from the pillow. "Baby? What's wrong?"

Alex tried to talk, felt himself near tears, and crawled under the covers instead. He was shaking. He was so angry.

Laurens let the silence grow awkward before he spoke. "Tell me you didn't get fired."

"I didn't get fired."

_"Thank you."_

"I quit."

"Alex. No."

"You should've heard the shit those customers were saying to Angelica -- because she couldn't accept their coupons -- which were  _expired_ , by the way, and they  _knew_  it, they just wanted -- and they expected me to stand there and take it? I was not about to let that slide. That's, that's -- you don't talk to people like that! And Angie was so  _upset_  and she still had another three hours to go and she couldn't even --"

"I cannot believe you quit."

"You don't think -- you can't be on their side."

"This isn't about  _sides_. This is about rent. You need to go back and get them to hire you on again."

He'd balled up his apron and thrown it in the face of the manager, swearing. They called security. "I don't think they'll do that."

Laurens said: "You are so fucking immature -- "

So Alexander said a few things he would likely regret in the morning, and Laurens shoved him to the floor, and then they were screaming at each other.

 

The argument could be heard quite clearly throughout the house. Seabury put on headphones, but Jefferson's usual mode of dealing with such things was to drink, so he wandered through the living room -- where Laurens and Alex were already at the "stand up and gesture" point, and Laurens was red in the face, and Alex was looking for something to throw. He stood in the kitchen a moment, listening and finishing off the wine from last night. Then he opened a fresh bottle and took it with him.

"Make sure to decant that properly," Alex said. "You don't want to lose the fumes."

"Fuck off," very calmly, and he was gone again, moving through their bodies like they were a pair of statues.

John pulled at his own hair. "You  _gotta_  piss him off, don't you? You can't let it go."

"Let  _what_  go?"

"Just play nice for once in your life. He's paying a third of the rent, and you're not paying anything --"

"I sold that article, which is more than you've done --"

"One time, Alex. You contributed one time, and the money hasn't even come in yet, god knows if they'll ever pay you --"

"Oh, nice. _Real_ nice. I love hearing you disparage my work like this. I'll have you know it's a real, legitimate news organization --"

 

 

Later that night they made up in the usual fashion -- against the wall in the bedroom.

Alex buried his face in Laurens' shoulder and let them join again and again, clumsily because the angle was wrong and it was so, so right -- both of them were shuddering and gasping after just a moment; he wanted it to go on and on. "John," he said, pleading, and Laurens said something on an intake of breath and started laughing, giddy with endorphins and release -- but Alex finished alone.

It didn't matter. They were still together and god he smelled so good and he tugged John's hair and shut his eyes and wouldn't let him move away -- but

"My ass is cold," said Laurens, laughing again. And "You're a mess."

"Thank you." He felt like a mess. He felt grateful. He smiled. "You're beautiful." He was: all clear definition and smooth taut muscles and that hair coming down, like a curtain. He wasn't half so lovely in clothes and that was the best part. It was their secret. It was Alex's secret.

He was watching John find fresh clothes for the two of them (he had his own bedroom but he wasn't going anywhere right now) -- when he clearly heard a sneeze.

They stared at each other.

"Next door," Alex mouthed.

John said, low: "I didn't realize the walls were quite that thin." He looked embarrassed, but Alex was laughing again.

 

 

Alex didn't want to do it. He really didn't want to do it. He really, really, really, really didn't want to do it. He spent several days arguing with himself over whether or not it really was bad enough to come to these extremities, and maybe he should hold off for a serious emergency? -- but he recognized the voice of anxiety _in extremis_. If he waited too long, it would be too late -- so he knocked on the door and waited, and waited ...

It took a while to open, and when it finally did, he knew already this wouldn't work. Jefferson was ridiculously attractive -- he had the clear good looks of a man born to aristocracy, and the height to go with it -- and he enjoyed looking down every inch of that frame to sneer at Alex. He looked down the bridge of his aristocratic nose at Alex -- and there was a lot of distance to look down. "What do you need?"

"Thomas!" said Alex, falsely cheerful, and stepped forward just in time to literally put his foot in the door. "It's not an emergency. I just wanted to have a little talk."

"So you don't need anything. Marvelous. Goodbye." He tried to shut the door and came up hard on Alex's foot.

Alex smiled. "Just a moment of your time."

"Move it, Hamilton. I have company."

Well, that was interesting. Jefferson usually wined-and-dined his "company" in the living room -- it was less obviously intimate, therefore a more disarming environment for the wining-and-dining he made an integral part of the ceremony. But maybe this was a business deal. He tried to angle around Jefferson to see the interior of the room, but with typical obstinacy Jefferson refused to either move or to become transparent. "Anyone I know?"

"What - do - you - want?"

"Wellllll," he drawled. "It can't have escaped even your keenly observant eye that neither John nor I has any, um, rather, that we're not quite gainfully --" -- then he caught Jefferson's expression and stopped playing. "Look. The thing is. Neither Laurens nor I has a lot of -- that is, we're working, but -- we can't -- we might not be able to --"

"Good try. I'm not loaning you money. Not a chance."

"We're good for it. I'll pay you back. I promise. With interest. Twenty-five percent." It was usurious. It was worse than the credit card advances -- but he'd tried and failed to be approved for that.

Jefferson's face didn't even twitch. "So I'm to expect that by next month, you will have -- what? Found a new way to make money? Rent, plus back rent, plus interest? I don't believe you. Who would hire you?"

Alex bristled, like a cat. "I'll have you know that I have PLENTY of useful skills."

"There's only one thing your mouth is good for, Hamilton." He smiled, blandly offensive. "Lying."

"Jefferson. Please. I'm begging."

"You're not on your knees yet, boy. And before you think to offer, I'm not interested. I have more taste, and higher standards. Personally speaking. But I'm sure some of my friends aren't so discerning --"

"Don't make me vomit."

Thomas seemed about to add something, then edited it. "I'll be sure to let Aaron know that you're falling behind."

"You wouldn't."  
He laughed out loud. "Don't try me." So he kicked Alex's foot hard enough to make him yelp and move it away, and gently, gently shut the door.

So that was that.

So Alexander would go to Burr.

He had no better option.


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late on rent and low on ideas, Alex decides to pay in kind.
> 
> _(hey look, I updated slightly early)_

"Burr?"

"Come in."

Burr sounded strained, and Alex had barely crossed the threshold. He flushed. But he was desperate. "It's about the rent."

Burr shook his head. "So you'll be late again. I knew that already. You're always late. Is that it?"

Alex swallowed. "We don't have it at all."

And Burr settled back in his chair, and steepled his fingers.

Alex resisted the urge to tell him that all he needed was a white cat to complete the Bond Villain look; Burr would probably hit the shelters immediately. He tried for humility instead, knowing it didn't fit him well. "I'm sorry." He expected -- something. Anger, threats.

Burr just tilted his head. "Why don't you have it?"

The last few months swelled up in Alex's throat and cut off his voice. He swallowed.

"Still not working?"

"I had a job."

"And you lost it."

"I quit."

Burr shrugged. "Unemployed is unemployed."

"You don't have a job! You live off trust funds."

"I _work_ as your _landlord_ ," hissed out through clenched teeth. "Also in politics."

"Not recently," sneered Alex. He'd pawed through Google hits ten and twenty pages deep; he'd found all the rumors. He _knew_ what had happened.

Burr stepped towards him quick, his frame taut and ready.

Alex came up against a wall.

And Burr stopped. His shoulders drooped; the tension -- the readiness to throw a punch -- that was so visible before -- seeped out. He rubbed his face, above the eyebrows, where he often pressed his fingers, as if to get rid of a headache there. ("My head hurts," he'd told Alex once, and Alex assumed it was an insult. What if he'd been serious?) "You ought to be grateful I -- nevermind. Nevermind. We can talk about this later. There's a storm coming. You should get home."

 _Grateful,_ he'd said. The idea filled Alex's mouth with a sour yellow-green flavor. " _Grateful?_ Why? For what? How have you been generous?"

"I'm doing it right now, you argumentative, _aggravating_ ass."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

" _I'm not evicting you,_ Alexander. I'm not harassing you about the illegal fireworks you set off every other night, or the loud parties after quiet hours twice every weekend and alternate Thursdays. I'm not calling the police over whatever your boyfriend is growing under those special lights."

With every "generosity," he moved closer; now they were only a few inches apart.

Alex said: "He's not my boyfriend."

"I know." A pause. "I heard that fight, too."

 _What_  fight? Which one? But Alex didn't want to leave; he wanted to fight again. He wanted to punch Burr in the face. He dredged up what he meant to be an insouciant expression: "Politician."

"Unemployed indignant! Alexander -- tell me something, would you? And be honest, please, if you can manage it. I'm asking in all seriousness."

"I don't _owe_ you anything --"

"You _owe_ a month's back-rent," Burr snapped; they were apparently back to normal now. But he rubbed his head. "I'll forgo it this time if you tell me the truth: why are you with John Laurens?"

"Are you shitting me? We love each other." He heard his own contradiction, but this part was true enough. They loved each other. Broken up or wrapped tight, they loved each other. That did not change; it could not change.

"I didn't ask why he is with you -- it's perfectly clear that he's using you. Why are you with him?"

Alex hissed. "John Laurens is everything you're not. He's kind and funny and --"

"He's a frivolous gym rat. He doesn't take you seriously. He doesn't value any of the things you believe in so passionately, write about so meaningfully. He doesn't value _anything_ \--"

"As if you would know," said Alex, full of scorn and aching, unsatisfied desire. Burr was so close, and he hadn't fucked in days, and fighting always got him ready ... "You've barely met him. You don't know him, you don't know me, you don't know _shit_ \--"

"These adjoining walls are painfully thin." Something crossed his face. "You're better than that."

"You're telling me I deserve better than someone who loves me? _You're full of shit, Aaron Burr._ You think I'm a lazy useless hippie --"

"Aren't you? You spend all your time arguing for change that you're unwilling to _work_ towards. You get so caught up in idealism that you miss opportunity. And, speak of idealism, you sleep with a curly-brained son of wealth and privilege -- everything you claim to hate -- just because he looks like a Greek god."

"That is not why!"

"Real-ly."

Alex dearly, sincerely wanted to hurt him. "John is a good person. It's not his fault that he's beautiful."

"Oh, I'm not blaming him," said Burr, cheerful enough. "I'm blaming you."

"Fuck you," said Alex.

"Get out of here. And Alexander?"

Alex was in the hallway, stiff-backed and furious; he turned now. "What?"

"Pay your goddamn rent. Or I'll evict you. All of you. Including that pill-popper you sleep with every night even though he isn't your boyfriend."

"You said if I told you the truth about John --"

"You lied," said Burr, and shut the door in his face.

 

*

 

Alex stood in the hallway for a long minute, staring at the closed door.

He was honestly shaking. He hated that man so much. How dare he say those things about John? He didn't know anything. He'd never seen Laurens bright-eyed and effusive over the turtles in the pet store; he'd never seen him coming down from a high, turning philosophical and loving; he didn't know how he cried and cried when the doctor told him to gain weight. So what if he didn't care about politics? So he wasn't smooth and well-spoken and debonair. Not everyone could be born with a silver spoon in their mouth, he thought, before remembering that Laurens, in fact, had been one of those.

And Alex had not. _He's using you,_ Burr said.

He wasn't. He _wasn't._ Why would he? What could Alex bring that Laurens couldn't buy -- 

\-- like he'd paid the rent for both of them for months, until --

No. It wasn't going to happen anymore. Alex could pay his own way; he'd done it before and he would do it again. Even if he had to rinse out his mouth afterwards and take a shower and then take a Valium.

He knocked on the door, hard.

 

*

"What?" from inside, and Burr opened the door -- the moment of surprise replaced quickly by blankness. "What are you doing? I thought you left."

Alex shut the door. The latch clicked as he locked it.  "I'm negotiating."

"No. We tried that, remember? You lied. I won't --"

Alexander, ignoring all this, put a hand on Burr's shoulder.

"What are you doing?" -- but his voice was soft.

Alex dropped to his knees, licked his mouth, rubbed his jaw. He could do this. He'd done it before. He tried to force himself down into the place where it was _okay_ , to get there before Burr made him kneel, before he felt hands on his head and tasted -- 

He reached out and put his hand on Burr.

It took a long, long second for Burr to get up and move away. H is hand clenched the back of the chair, keeping it between their bodies like a shield. " That's illegal."

"Nobody needs to know."

"I would know. You would know."

"Let me," said Alex, and finally admitted he wanted this for more than one reason. "Let me put my mouth on you. Let me suck you off. For the rent. Please.  I've been told I'm quite good at this."

Burr laughed at that -- it sounded shaky. "Alexander. The answer is no. Get up," and when Alex didn't move didn't move, just stayed blinking at him, frankly unable to believe anyone would turn him down, Burr pulled on his arm until he stood again.

They were nearly the same height, Alex noticed.

And he noticed too the fine lines curving around Burr's mouth, marks of tension; he noticed the smooth skin between nose and eyes; he saw, maybe for the first time, that Burr's eyes were soft and sad.

"Why not?" he said.

"It's illegal --"

"Oh, shut up," he said, scorning, and to his complete surprise Burr gave a snort of laughter. "You don't care about illegal. You could have turned us in a dozen times. Do you have something against oral sex? Or is it me, specifically."

"It's not you."

"Just blow jobs, then. I guess there has to be someone against it. Shame it's you."

"I'm, um, I'm good with fellatio." His voice sounded strained, all the laughter drained away out of it.  "But I won't coerce you into sex. I won't be coerced myself. I won't use it as a bargaining chip. I won't --"

"You sound like a school pamphlet on good behavior."

"I sound like a man who doesn't want to make you a prostitute. This is -- listen to me, will you?" He grabbed Alex's upper arm and shook him, a little. "You're being a brat. Stop _scowling_ at me. Why did you think this was a good idea?"

Alex bit his lip. He didn't want to know what was on his face -- he couldn't bear to have Burr looking at him like that, he couldn't do it -- so he stepped forward to bridge that missing space between their bodies (he just hated him _so much)_  and he kissed Burr on the mouth.

It was the lightest kiss imaginable -- they barely made contact -- and Burr jerked away like someone had scalded him. His color was high. "If this is your argument --"

"I hate you," said Alex, meaning it, and then they were kissing again. Burr was ice-solid under his mouth but Alex was heat, he was fire, he was so _angry_  -- and Burr unfroze with a noise like a glacier collapsing -- and then he was kissing back, soft and slow, holding on to Alex's waist like he thought he might fly away if he let him go. He was responding. His eyes were shut and his breath was coming faster and Alex could feel his interest in the way he breathed and shifted and how he dragged his hand down to pull their bodies closer.

 _I hate you_ , Alex thought, and found that he was hating himself too. He shouldn't _want_ this. He shouldn't be enjoying this. He shouldn't be trying to make Burr make another noise like that first one that came out of him when Alex pressed their bodies close and curled his fingers in over his hips.

Noise.  _The walls are thin_ , Burr had said.

Laurens _._

Alex broke away. He wiped his mouth.

Burr shifted back a fragment of a step. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that."

Alex hadn't meant to do it either. "It was my fault."

"Yes. It was."

"You're such a _Republican_ ," said Alex, scornful again, wanting to kiss him again, wanting wanting wanting. "Why are you shaking? Haven't you ever kissed a boy before? Are you _scared,_ Burr? Afraid of what you'll feel with me on you?"

" _Must_ you be hateful? You know I'm attracted to you -- it's obvious. It's painfully obvious. But I'm not going to exchange money for sex. I don't want to pay you just you to get your mouth on me. And I'm not asking where you got the idea this would be a good idea --"

Alex very much didn't want to talk about that but he was out of ideas. "I can't let you evict me. Us. You can't kick us out. And I'm broke." He tried to laugh: "I might live in a house with five bedrooms, but I can't afford to furnish any of them."

"The living room was nice."

"The living room was decorated by Jefferson."

"Well," said Burr. "That explains a lot." He stared at Alex. "Are you willing to work? To have an actual job?"

Alex sputtered. "I did that before --"

"You worked two days and threw your apron at the manager, that's not real willingness --"

"You're a goddamn snoop! Do you listen to  _all_ of our conversations?"

"Only the ones that are screamed at two in the morning -- so, yes, I do hear most of them. Alexander, soothe down your feathers and open your ears. I'm offering you a job. Do you want it?"

Alex stared.

"It's not a lot of money," said Burr, more carefully now. "And it's not quite as illustrious as working social media for an unknown rag. But it'll pay rent and utilities and a little bit extra, if you're careful. If you show up and keep your mouth shut."

"Where is it? With who? Doing what?"

"Interning. With me."

**Author's Note:**

> i am the absolute worst -- if you don't know yet, you will  
> check it on tumblr @littledeconstruction


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